Earthly and Heavenly
by red wild sparkles
Summary: As Commander of the Inquisition, Cullen believes it's his duty to continue tormenting himself about all he's done and left undone. On a moonlit night beside him, Cassandra doesn't see it that way. One-shot. (No relation to my other works, yes more Cullen and Cassandra!)


Cullen had never been to the Hissing Wastes before, but after the first hour of riding through it, he felt as though he'd known it for years. Sand dunes stretched as far as the eye could see, and there was little variation in the vicinity.

He rode at the back of the party with the Inquisitor discussing their plans for the area, pointing out pockets of lazurite and other resources they could use. In front of them, Varric had turned to his favorite pastime – needling Cassandra. Drawing his horse up level with Cassandra's, he remarked casually, "It makes sense that Leliana did the recruiting when the Inquisition started. Not everyone can be intimidated into signing up, after all."

Cassandra did not turn to look at him as she answered, "I recruited Commander Cullen."

"Lucky him," Varric said. He twisted in his saddle and gave Cullen a wink.

"He has made no complaints about my manners."

Varric chuckled. "His last boss was a raving lunatic who turned into a statue. That's not a high bar. Is it, Curly?"

Cullen feigned shock. "Varric, are you really suggesting that anyone could be a greater inspiration than Meredith?"

The dwarf chuckled. "Pardon me for noticing there was someone here you held higher in your esteem."

At that, a smile flashed across the Inquisitor's face. She tried to catch Cullen's eye, but he quickly avoided her gaze.

After all, she wasn't really who he had in mind.

* * *

When the Inquisitor had asked Cullen to accompany her on this trip to the Hissing Wastes, he very nearly declined. In a word, he was fearful. He was afraid of leaving his work unattended, even though he knew he had every reason to have confidence in his officers. He'd grown accustomed to Skyhold. There were days when he didn't take a single step outside the confining walls of his office tower, and it suited him fine. Nor had he been out in the field since leaving Kirkwall – only three months ago, but it felt like a lifetime.

Of course, the Inquisitor wasn't asking for his preferences. She had made the decision that he should be a part of investigating the Venatori presence firsthand, establishing camps, and assessing the terrain before sending out their troops.

And Cassandra had been standing behind her, her gaze level and her eyes steadfast. She went on every expedition, he knew. So Cullen had said yes, just as he had the very day Cassandra turned up in his office at Kirkwall and asked him to join the Inquisition.

Although that had been the first time he and Cassandra met face to face, he'd known of her for years. First she'd been named the Hero of Orlais, when she was still a teenager. Then she'd become the Right Hand of the Divine Beatrix, and Divine Justinia after her. On trips to Nevarra, Cullen had seen a portrait of her in the king's palace. He'd assumed her perfect features and stately bearing were exaggerations by the painter, meant to flatter the subject and play up her royal blood, even if she was only seventy-eighth in line to the throne. In fact, his first thought when he saw her in person was that the painting had completely failed to capture her likeness – her strength, her beauty, and her adamant determination. He'd felt drawn to her from the start, the way the tides were pulled in by the shore.

She'd never commented on how quickly he made up his mind to follow her. He assumed she was used to that kind of reaction.

* * *

So it had come as something of a shock to Cullen when he discovered that the others didn't see her in the same way. Leliana acted as though she was Cassandra's clear superior. Sera was constantly irreverent, even bratty.

Varric was the worst of them all.

Their dynamic was baffling. Cullen had seen Cassandra endure Leliana's merciless teasing, visiting dignitaries' insults, and crude remarks from their enemies, all without batting an eye. It was only Varric who somehow managed to provoke her to incendiary rage. As far as he could tell, only one instance of that had really been justified – when he'd lied to her about not knowing how to contact Hawke. Cullen had been talking with the Inquisitor when they heard crashes and yells coming from upstairs. They'd burst in just in time to separate the two of them, though Cassandra didn't stop shouting at Varric until Cullen had led her out to the courtyard, where she smashed up a training dummy with just her fists.

"Shall we take a walk?" he suggested, when she stopped to catch her breath. "We could put some ice on your hands." She just glowered at him. "Varric will be out soon," he added.

That convinced her. "Fine," she said begrudgingly, and they set off for the main gate.

Aside from a few soldiers patrolling the perimeter, the snowy grounds surrounding Skyhold were empty. Cassandra stripped off her padded gauntlets and unceremoniously thrust her fists into a mound of clean snow. Cullen was relieved to see that her hands weren't bleeding, though she'd have black bruises over her knuckles for days.

After some time, Cassandra still hadn't moved. "Careful," Cullen said. "Frostbite."

Cassandra snorted. "Only an idiot could get frostbite this way."

"Oh, I know," Cullen said, showing her the scars on his right hand. "I was five. I could never refuse a dare from my siblings. It's a miracle I survived my childhood."

Cassandra shook her head in disbelief, but she pulled her hands out of the snow. She studied them for a moment, then grimaced and iced it again.

"Pain teaches many lessons," she said grimly. "I forgot an important one today."

"What was it?"

"Not to inflict it on yourself unnecessarily."

She sighed and shook herself.

"It was foolish of me to lose my temper at Varric like that. He brought Hawke to us in the end. That was the objective all along."

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "You trusted him. It's understandable that you would be upset."

"I am. Extremely. But now I must focus on the good that has come out of this debacle."

She drew her hands out of the snow, patted them dry gingerly, and slipped her gauntlets back on for warmth. "Thank you, Cullen. I'll try to be civil around Varric, the next time I see him." A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. "As welcome as it was to have your company today, I can't expect you to always be around to save his sorry hide."

Unfortunately, over the next few weeks, Varric went on goading Cassandra as though he had no regard for his sorry hide whatsoever.

As the Inquisitor's party rode out through the Hissing Wastes, Varric rode up to Cassandra and called out, "I spy..."

"No," Cassandra said flatly.

"But..."

"No."

"Well, you should be good at finding things." He paused, barely able to contain his glee. "Of course, you couldn't find Hawke."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and spurred her horse on ahead of the group. Varric turned and gave Cullen a grin. "When she gets that angry, it's almost cute," he said.

Something clicked in Cullen's mind. It shouldn't have taken him so long to notice that Cassandra and Varric actually enjoyed the antagonism between them. They were, strangely enough, well-matched.

Varric was gazing ahead at Cassandra's back, a wistful expression on his face. Cullen felt his own face grow hot. He wished he hadn't noticed at all.

* * *

Later that night after a quick supper, they split up to pitch their tents, Cassandra with the Inquisitor, and Cullen with Varric. As Cullen went through the familiar motions, his mind wandered. He couldn't help worrying – against the Inquisitor's judgment – that he might be needed at Skyhold right this minute.

Instead, he was struggling against a wind-buffeted tent in the middle of a desert. It made him feel worse than useless.

Since Kinloch he'd fallen into a spiral of self-doubt. Meredith had kept him afloat with excessive praise, to the point where he'd become blind to the ways she was manipulating him. That had led to the colossal tragedies at Kirkwall, deaths he could have prevented if he had only acted sooner.

On the deck of the ship to Haven, Cassandra had said to him, "I do not care where you have faltered – only that you stand here now." But to let go of his past mistakes seemed tantamount to not learning from them. He deserved to suffer for both what he'd done and left undone, and still it would be no equal to the suffering he had caused, no restitution, no pardon.

And certainly not at the rate he was going about things. Even now, letters were surely piling up for him at Skyhold. He had told his first officer to sift through them and forward him anything that critical – ravens awaited – but to leave the rest until he returned. Now he cursed himself for not instructing them to handle more.

He knew he was working himself too hard, attempting to shoulder the lion's share of the work; he knew it was unsustainable and therefore irresponsible, but he also felt he didn't deserve any fate but to work himself as hard as possible. Each night he looked at his record books and never seemed to see any progress, only a growing list of tasks undone. He saw weakness in the ranks, shortages of resources, failure and inadequacy at every turn.

He should have developed a system for sharing out the work. He should have done more of it himself before leaving. He should have, and he hadn't, and –

"Hey, Curly," Varric said suddenly, cutting into his thoughts. "Ever seen a nug that ate something awful?"

Cullen was startled. "What? No."

"You'd get a good likeness now, if you looked in the mirror." He snickered. "Out with it. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

Varric snorted. "Bullshit. You're always up in arms about the Inquisition's forces. You worry that a soldier can't sneeze without your oversight." He paused. "And you're mad at me for provoking Cassandra."

At the mention of Cassandra, Cullen felt another blush creep over his features. "I haven't forgotten," he said, "that the last time I saw you do that, she almost strangled you."

"Yes, and we're good friends again now, thank you very much." Varric grinned. "You know what the funny thing is? I'm only giving her a hard time on this trip because you're here."

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "Because I'll be around to restrain her?"

"Because I know you won't have to."

Cullen blinked. Varric went on, with an air of great patience, "Try and follow my point here, Curly. What I'm saying is that she's a lot mellower when you're around. Less punching and stabbing, more googly eyes."

Cullen furrowed his brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Varric looked at him for a long minute. "No, you really don't," he said, sounding faintly amazed.

He resumed hammering in the tent pegs, looking completely absorbed in the task. For a long time, Cullen struggled to decide if he should say something, and if so, what. Finally, he said, "Varric?"

The dwarf looked up. "Yes?"

"Whatever your reasons are for aggravating her, she's…" He struggled to say the words. "Fond of you, I think."

Varric looked utterly dumbfounded.

After a stretch of speechless silence, he said, "Maker's hairy ass. You _really_ don't get it. You're going to need even more help than I thought."

Cullen felt pretty close to punching Varric himself. Instead, he just shook his head and said, "I'm leaving to collect firewood. You tell yourself whatever you like, Varric."

* * *

Cullen set off at a brisk pace, covering a wide area around their camp. Wood was hard to come by, yet he didn't stop until he had gathered far more than they could use in one night. He knew he must look a sight – the Commander of the Inquisition, picking up twigs as though his life depended on it. If the Inquisitor saw him –

He groaned aloud. He had enough on his mind without adding to it the particular attention she'd been paying him lately. So far, he'd done nothing on this trip that couldn't have been handled by one of his officers. But she hadn't asked for one of his officers. She'd asked for him.

As he climbed the high ground where they'd pitched their tents, their fire came into view. Cassandra was sitting by it, alone. He almost didn't recognize her in her stillness. In the day she was constantly in motion, so often driven by righteous anger, so relentlessly efficient. By night, here, with no distance to travel, no Skyhold duties to attend to, her sword and armor polished and put away long ago, she was at rest.

He should be, too, but rest was far from him. He studied Cassandra, trying to understand the change that had come over her. With a yawn, she slowly stretched her arms above her head, arching her back. His breath caught in his throat. _Don't stare,_ he scolded himself, but he couldn't bear to look away.

"There you are," she said, looking up as he approached. "The Inquisitor's gone to sleep, but she was wondering where you went."

Her eyebrows shot up as he dropped the firewood on the ground, and he suppressed a sigh. It had been stupid to collect so much when they would just have to leave it here, for the desert winds would scatter again before long.

"I needed to take a walk. Varric was getting on my nerves," he said, knowing it was explanation enough.

There seemed to be a hint of bemusement in her eyes. "What did he say to you?"

Cullen colored. He certainly wasn't going to tell Cassandra that Varric, of all people, was – as he had so awkwardly put it – fond of her. That was Varric's job, as soon as he quit being in denial of his feelings in the first place. "It doesn't matter," he said shortly. "I had some time to clear my head. I'm fine now."

She looked at him closely. "I had meant to look in on you. I know we've seen a good deal of each other over the last few months, but I haven't actually asked how you've been faring."

When he didn't respond at first, she continued gently, "I am not your overseer, as you know. Just a friend."

He tried a smile, felt it take a crooked shape. "I am well."

"Our forces have exceeded expectations. The Inquisitor and I are in agreement. We couldn't have asked for a better Commander." She shook her head. "But you seem troubled, all the same."

"I am," he admitted, and as he dropped his gaze, the weight on his shoulders seemed to double.

She knew where he'd come from, what shape he'd been in. And his present worries didn't seem to merit being put into words – things like the state of his inbox, for the Maker's sake. He didn't know how to convey, at once, the gravity of his aims, and the meanness of his anxiety. "The Inquisition was to be my atonement," he said eventually, realizing the truth of it as he said it.

"Yet you feel as though nothing you do will ever be good enough," Cassandra said softly.

"I know it to be so."

He knew by her expression that she meant to give his words due weight. She considered her answer carefully before replying. "As part of my initiation into the Seekers," she began, "I spent months emptying myself of all emotion."

Seeing his shock, she said feelingly, "It seemed horrible initially, yes. And I have no wish to repeat the exercise anytime soon. Still, the lesson it taught me was invaluable. If emotions are dividing your being, sapping your energy and leading you astray, then exercise your will and set them aside. Do not allow them to reign you unchecked. And remember that the strongest emotion may have less truth to it than the simplest of facts. Such as…"

She looked off into the distance, thinking. "We are slowly extending the Inquisition's influence here. We will have a good fire tonight."

She looked at him, expectantly. Haltingly, he said, "We have food and water enough for our journey."

"No blood was shed today," she answered.

"The horse that seemed ill yesterday has recovered."

"The scouts brought us leads on the Red Templars."

"The Inquisitor has closed two rifts already."

At that, Cassandra paused. In a low voice, she said, "She is special to you, isn't she?"

Cullen was thrown. "She's a special person, certainly," he said cautiously. A thought occurred to him. He stammered, "Are you asking if I… if I have other feelings for her?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Don't you?"

He colored, wondering if everyone had noticed the kind of attention the Inquisitor paid him. A person's favor was not to be trifled with, especially not when that person was in a position of power. But he had never knowingly solicited it, and he didn't want it. "No," he said.

"Oh," Cassandra said, sounding surprised.

But she still seemed unconvinced, and Cullen couldn't think of anything he could say to make her think otherwise.

Determined if nothing else to change the subject, Cullen tried to restart their previous exchange. "We found a good place to set up camp. Our elevation will be a tremendous advantage in spotting any beast that tries to attack us. The moon shines brightly tonight."

He'd added that last one at a loss for anything else to point out. But to his surprise, a smile spread across Cassandra's face. It seemed to have been the answer she was waiting for.

"I have always loved the moon," she said with deep reverence. "It has always seemed to me that the Maker created the sun out of necessity. Without it, we would perish. But the moon, He made as a gift."

Cullen turned her words over in his mind as they both gazed up silently at the sky for an interval, listening to the wolves calling out to each other in the distance.

After a time, Cassandra spoke again. "We must always desire eternal things…" she said softly.

It sounded as though she'd been quoting. "Is that from a poem?" Cullen asked.

She didn't answer him at first. "The moon had a beginning, and it will have an end. I have always thought of it as a picture of eternity, nonetheless. Of constancy abiding through change. All through the years, it has been with me wherever I go. In Nevarra, even after my brother Anthony was killed. When I left to train with the Seekers, arriving in Orlais for the first time. Even in the darkest of nights, I know the moon is there. It reminds me that having faith is a choice we must make over and over again. And that it is simple. All it is is believing in something we do not yet see."

She rolled her shoulders back, exhaling slowly. Releasing the tension from her shoulders. "The line – it's something Justinia used to say, when people came to her asking how they should pray. Without ceasing, she told them. They'd scoff or laugh at her. Only a few would ask how that was possible. She'd reply: "We ought always to pray is the same as saying: we must always desire eternal things, the temporal things which serve the eternal, our daily bread of every kind and for every need, life in all its fullness earthly and heavenly."

"Justinia was certainly a better leader than Meredith," he said ruefully. "Meredith used to say, 'It's not much of a world, is it? Is it worth us trying to save it?'"

Cassandra spun around to look at him, her eyes wide. "Oh, Cullen – yes!" she said fervently. "If only I could make you see, somehow, that it is!"

His instinct was to correct her – to remind her that he'd given Meredith's point of view, not his. But it hadn't occurred to him before that he'd come round to thinking just as she had.

As he watched, Cassandra raised a hand, ungloved, a graceful gesture that made his chest ache suddenly.

"All of this – so much!" she exclaimed. "You must look at it all, Cullen, not just at the unhappy things. Look!"

He followed the arc of her hand, but saw nothing. At least – nothing besides the moon, poised tremendously right in the middle of the sky, so brilliant that it bathed the clouds around it in a sea of radiance. The long expanse of the sky was pierced with the sharp coruscant points of the stars. All of it gave a light so gentle that it hardly could hardly be seen itself. Yet it strong enough to cast a shadow behind Cassandra, lengthening the curve of her outstretched arm.

"How beautiful!" she said passionately. "It is beautiful just to be alive in this world!"

And suddenly Cullen was overcome with a startling sensation, like an egg breaking open inside him. She was looking at him just as she had that very first time in Kirkwall, confident and unafraid. It felt as though she saw straight into him, and instead of seeing things to cover up or reject, she saw something inside him worth drawing out, making visible.

The moon above them was nearly full, but not yet. By the time it was, Cullen thought ruefully, he'd be back in his tower at Skyhold. A prisoner of his own habits. He'd found ways of making his world comfortable, predictable, and small. For the first time in a long time, he wanted something else – to be exactly where he was tonight, beneath the great moon in the quiet vastness of the desert by Cassandra's side.

"Well, isn't this a sight," a familiar voice drawled.

Cullen and Cassandra both jumped. It was Varric, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

"Why, it's the Seeker and the Commander. I should have known I'd find you two out here." He grinned. "Standing around looking moonstruck."

Cassandra stiffened. Cullen's cheeks burned. Before either of them could say anything, Varric went on, "Well, don't let me interrupt your evening."

With a pointed look at Cullen and a last smug grin, he strode off.

Cullen looked over at Cassandra, expecting to see the usual murderous expression she so often wore around Varric. To his amazement, she was staring down at her lap, lost for words.

His mind raced. He'd convinced himself that Varric's antagonism was his way of expressing affection for Cassandra. And it was – but not of the kind he'd imagined. Varric had tried to tell him, but he hadn't dared believe it, not until now…

"Cassandra," he began, but she cut him off.

"It is late," she said, sounding regretful. "I should go."

"Don't," Cullen blurted out. "Stay a while longer, Cassandra."

She wavered, and Cullen realized then that Varric had handed him a trump card. He said, "If Varric makes you go, he's won."

Instantly she scowled. Cullen added, "Besides, you can't have had enough of this." He gestured up towards the moon.

Her expression softened. "No," she replied. "Not when there's such abundance."

Cullen nodded. He bent to stir the fire, grateful for something to do. When he turned around, Cassandra was spreading out her bedroll. He unrolled his own and lay down next to her, not close enough to touch, but close enough to whisper.

For a while, there was no sound but the crackling of the flames, warm and comforting.

There was something irresistible about light in the darkness, Cullen thought, as the tension between them slipped away, and words came easily to them again. He listened to her speak of how, as a child, even when her uncle had tried to keep her in the most gilded of cages, she'd still been able to look out her window at the moon and imagine she was seeing it from somewhere else – Orlais, perhaps, or Tevinter. "Even Ferelden would do, if that meant escape," she said, which made Cullen smile. Years later now, looking up at the moon made her think of Nevarra, with mingled sadness and joy for the family she'd loved and left there.

In turn, Cullen told her about dragging his reluctant siblings along on camping trips under the night sky in Honnleath. How he'd even brought the Chant to recite it to them, because he was always pretending that he was a Templar. "It was my dream for so long," he said, sighing. "I never thought I'd want nothing more to do with the Order."

He rested his head on one hand, turning to look at Cassandra. She was looking intently into the fire, but he sensed she knew he was watching her. Quietly, he asked, "What happens when you strive for something and realize it wasn't the perfect thing you thought you wanted?"

"You seek out someone who understands," she said softly. "And you ask them what you should strive for next."

She looked at him then, the question brimming in her own eyes.

Cullen took a deep breath.

"That's good news," he said. "After all, you're good at finding things."

"Am I?"

The hope in her eyes was its own answer, before Cullen leaned over and kissed her soundly.

* * *

A/N: Of course Cullen would say "Besides, you can't have had enough of this" and gesture up at the _moon,_ instead of _himself._ Silly.

"We ought always to pray…" is by Antonin Sertillanges.

This whole story really is a retelling (and pretty much a copy) of a wonderful scene in _The Bronze Bow_ by Elizabeth George Speare. "How beautiful!" [Thacia] sighed [to Daniel]. "It is beautiful just to be alive in Galilee!" Like Daniel in that story, and Cullen in this one, I tend to focus on the unhappy things, the negatives and the worries. I wrote this as a reminder to myself that it's possible to choose to think differently – and better by far. Thank you so much for reading! I hope it did something good for you!


End file.
